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"Would they not be likely to make straight for the east and a seaport?" inquired farmer Nye suggestively. "To be sure they would," exclaimed Mr. Purley. "So now, Munson, we will go right back upon the road we came last night," he added, being still in ignorance as to the lost day.
And meanwhile the household, aroused by the outcry, had hurried on their clothes, and now came pouring into the passage the women down the garret stairs, and the men up the lower back stairs. "Now I've got you!" exclaimed Munson, triumphantly, as he knocked the feet from under Purley, and threw him down upon the floor.
Then Jenkins blew on a boatswain's whistle the shrill, trilling, and penetrating call that rouses all hands in the morning, but is seldom given again throughout the day except in emergencies. All hands responded. Both cooks rushed up from the galley, the engineers on watch shut off all burners and appeared, and men tumbled up from the forecastle, all joining Jenkins and Munson on the bridge.
"There every afternoon, isn't he, Simmons?" asked Munson, who was smoking quietly: "Shouldn't wonder," came the response between the trills. "How's that affair coming on?" came a voice out of the tobacco-smoke. "Same old way," answered someone at the lower end of the table "still waiting for the spondulix." "Seen her last picture?" remarked Watson, knocking the ashes from his pipe.
As has been intimated in another place, young Munson had been furnished with one of the finest of prairie steeds one whose speed, endurance, and intelligence was extraordinary.
"He knows all about Mr. Munson," was her reply. "Indeed, the latter is his most intimate friend. I suppose my cousin is indulging in a little natural curiosity concerning this destroyer of masculine peace, and if ever a man could do so in safety he can." "Why so?" "Well, I never knew so unsusceptible a man. With the exception of a few of his relatives, he has never cared for ladies' society."
Fred Munson felt that this was about as rose-colored a view as could be taken, and indeed a great deal rosier than the situation warranted at least, in his opinion. "Mickey, if that isn't counting chickens before they're hatched, I don't know what is! While you're supposing things, suppose these Indians don't do all that, where's going to come our chance of creeping out without their knowing it?"
"Sensible dog!" said Munson, as with more precaution he closed and locked the outer door, and took that key also with him. "You must not attempt to escape with your wagon; but must ride your horses, which will be much more efficacious both for swiftness and for their ability to go through places where you could not take a wagon," said Munson, as they walked across the farm-yard.
"It's too late we know it!" exulted Tom Swift. Then he whispered to the others to hurry to the part of the cave where Bill Renshaw had first hidden them. "Do you think there is any danger of them finding us?" asked Mr. Damon, as he hurried along beside Tom. "I'm afraid so," was the answer. "I've been worried ever since we saw Munson heading this way. But we couldn't do any differently."
As to celibacy, he asserted in the most positive manner that it is healthful, and tends to prolong life; "as we are constantly proving." Of these, Abigail Munson died at Mount Lebanon, aged 101 years, 11 months, and 12 days.
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